A Person, A Word
by Cerae56
Summary: For the 'One and One' challenge; a collection of 25 oneshots, each centered on one character and a single-word prompt.
1. Mary Cattermole, Deserve

**A/N: Hello! This story collection is for CheekySlytherinLass's "One and One" Challenge, which means each chapter will be based on a prompt that is one character and one word. The title of each chapter will tell you what the prompt is. Overall, there should be 25 chapters. I hope you enjoy this first one, in which Mary Cattermole attends Umbridge's trial after the war!**

* * *

Mary looked critically into the mirror, unsure if she was overdressed. She didn't want to look like she was gloating, even though she supposed she was. She supposed she should be, at least.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Reg asked her again.

"Yes," she lied.

He held out his hand and they appeared together to the Ministry. "I have to go straight to work," he told her, almost nervous. He didn't really know what he was supposed to say. "Do you want to come with me to the office or-"

"Maybe I'll just head down. I don't want to be late. Tell Jake and Sean and everyone I say hi."

"I will. Good luck," he said, kissing her on the cheek and then setting off for the Magical Maintenance Department office.

Mary tried to keep the bad memories at bay as she descended the stairs to the courtrooms. Coming here today was supposed to be about moving on…

Once she had reached the very bottom floor, she was shocked at the crowd of people waiting in the hallway. They couldn't all be there for the trial… could they?

"Biggest turnout yet, I think," said a voice behind her. She turned and nearly jumped in surprise; it was Harry Potter. Obviously she'd been reading about him; even now, months after You-Know-Who's defeat, it was all the Daily Prophet could talk about. But he'd been staying out of the public eye. He wasn't giving comments or interviews, let alone going out into the wizarding masses. Mary had always assumed that she would never see him in person again- she'd barely even seen him the first time, as he was disguised as Runcorn and all. It hadn't been until the day after her escape that she'd fully understood what had happened.

Seeing that she was still at a loss for words, he continued. "It'll be in Courtroom Three I hear- only one big enough for the uh- spectators." He shrugged. Like everyone else, he seemed determined to remain offhand. "A lot of people wanted to come. But I'm sure you can understand that."

"D-Do you remember me?" she asked, surprised.

He chuckled in kind surprise. "Remember you? Well of course! It's not every day you break into the Ministry of Magic! How's your family- you have kids, right? Did you end up leaving the country?"

"Oh! Well, everyone's fine- great actually. And yes, we ended up in Spain- Maisie, my oldest, she can speak a little Spanish so it seemed the best place to hide out until- Well, until things were over," she said, unsure how to say it to the person who had ultimately ended 'things.' "But we're back home again."

He nodded. "Good, good."

Before she could ask how he was, the courtroom door opened and people began filing in. The Wizengamot was already seated in the front of the room, where they could all see the (currently empty) chair where the accused sat. In this room, there were also several rows of seats behind that chair, where people could watch the trial if they had permission.

Mary was thankful that it was in a different room than her own trial was, and she was also secretly happy that she would not have to look at That Woman's face.

"Usually only family's allowed in," Harry told her. "But they've been making exceptions recently- given the circumstances."

"For closure," she whispered.

"Exactly."

She wasn't sure why he was still talking to her- although she noticed that no one seemed to be with him. People were trying to get close to him, of course, noticing who he was, but he didn't seem to be accompanied by any of his friends.

"That's why I'm here," she told him.

He gave her a small smile. "Me too," he said, and she noticed he was rubbing the back of his right hand almost subconsciously. She wondered what The Woman could have done to him.

And then they brought Her in. She sucked in a breath, watching the very person who had haunted her nightmares for months be led across the room, head hanging. She looked different- thinner, in a sickly way, and her hair was grayer, which was accentuated by the fact that she was wearing a dull gray dress which looked nothing like the too-bright pink Mary had seen her in before.

She sat down, still avoiding everyone eyes, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, from his seat at the head of the room, started in a grave, tired voice. "Dolores Jane Umbridge…"

Mary shuddered in her seat. She hadn't been able to think the name, let alone say it- she had never understood why people hadn't liked using Voldemort's name so well as she had since the day she had herself stared evil in the face. Shacklebolt read out the charges, each more horrible than the last. Mary hadn't known that some of the Muggleborns- people just like her- had died in Azkaban. She felt horrified again by the reality of what had happened to her, and was suddenly very aware that she had never thanked Harry Potter for rescuing her. But she couldn't now- not properly, it was so quiet that even in the large room, anything over a whisper would have drawn attention.

It didn't take nearly as long as Mary had expected it to- most people on the Wizengamot knew what she was and Umbridge didn't say a word the entire time. The verdict was unanimous.

She dug deep within herself, trying to search out a part of her that felt better. She felt the same. In fact, when the guards came to drag Umbridge off to Azkaban and the woman did start screaming- insults, pleas, anything really- Mary found she was not vindicated or even relieved. She didn't feel bad for the horrid woman by any means, but it was a terrifying sight…

Harry, still sitting just behind her, seemed to share her feelings. "A bit anticlimactic, isn't it?" he mused. "Oh well. It was nice to see you again-" he was rising to leave.

"Before you go- I just wanted to thank you," she said quickly, anxiously. When he looked confused, she added, "You know- my trial. Getting me out and all that."

For the first time, he looked mildly uncomfortable, shrugging her thanks away awkwardly. When he spoke again, it was as if he hadn't heard her at all. "Mrs. Cattermole, I meant to ask- how was Spain?"

She blinked, unsure of what was happening. "Um- it was alright. It was a bit hard to find a place to stay on such short notice, but the scenery was lovely."

He nodded. "I've been thinking of leaving the country myself for a while," he said quietly. He was distant, almost as if he was speaking to himself, and a moment later, when his face snapped back to its polite smile, he had the air of someone who'd just said more than he meant to. "Oh- I should say hello to Kingsley. Have a good day, Mrs. Cattermole. Goodbye."

And before she could even return the goodbye, he was gone, rushing to meet the Minister at the front of the exiting crowd. Mary swept her eyes over them. A few people wore the satisfied, vengeful look that she thought she was supposed to show. A few more were crying- these looked to be the families of the deceased. But most looked like Mary really felt- very tired and a little confused. They were all shuffling off, but they barely seemed to know where they were going.

It wasn't long before she was alone in the room and in something that was either a surge of bravery or simply a desire to feel something deeper, she touched the chair, whose sister she'd been chained to some three rooms over less than a year ago. She didn't understand why she didn't feel happy. That woman- Umbridge- was in prison.

Of course, that didn't undo all the fear Mary had felt anymore than it brought those Muggleborns back to life. It was the hard truth that everyone was dealing with in their way- just because the good wins out doesn't mean the bad didn't happen, didn't take and destroy and permanently ruin lives.

But there was nothing to be done except to try to rest easier, knowing that one more of the monsters was where she belonged. And as Mary appeared to the warmth of her house and was immediately welcomed by the happy chaos of her children, she began to think that maybe Umbridge wasn't the only one who got what she deserved.


	2. Abraxas Malfoy, Stain

**A/N: Abraxas Malfoy was Lucius's father; Nobby Leach was the first Muggleborn Minister for Magic. This tells the story of the mysterious connection between the two that Rowling has hinted at on Pottermore.**

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Once they were seated at opposite ends of the impressive dining table in Malfoy Manor, Minister for Magic Nobby Leach asked Abraxas, "Isn't your family joining us?"

"I'm afraid not. My wife is overseas visiting family and my son is away at school," Abraxas replied, remaining deliberately vague. He despised the man seated across from him, and didn't really wish to prolong their small talk. Besides, he didn't want to be caught in a lie; after all, his wife wasn't travelling, just at her sister's house across town. But he didn't want his family here by any means; he had sacrificed enough of his dignity and reputation for Leach already.

Many were scandalized when he didn't join the rest of the Ministry purebloods in resigning their posts in protest. A mudblood minister. The world was getting more ridiculous every day.

But that was just it. The world was changing; it was losing sight of the importance of blood purity. However, unlike many of his friends, Abraxas knew that there was one thing that was more important than purity, and that was image. He was furious that the idiots of his community had put someone so unworthy in office, but he was also very aware of his position in the public eye and was smart enough to play diplomat. While he sympathized with the people who quit, refusing to work under a man who wasn't fit to lick their shoes, he didn't see losing power and making a spectacle of oneself as a good solution.

So he knew he couldn't take overt action. When asked about his plans, he had a well-calculated response. 'While the new Minister and I have some very different viewpoints, I certainly accept that the community is changing and I see no purpose in fighting change. It is far better, I think, to embrace differences in opinion than to deepen tensions with uncompromising partisanship. While I will continue to represent the values I have always stood for, I also plan to respect the legitimacy of the Minister and his office.' Play both sides, that was the Malfoy way. And though it had killed him, the statement was part of a larger plan.

A plan that was coming to fruition right now, as one of the Manor's many house elves brought two identical glasses of wine to the table. The elves hands did not shake as he carefully placed one glass in front of Leach and another in front of Abraxas; he then gave a steady bow and retreated back into the kitchen.

Leach, who was used to the ways of wealthy wizards by now, continued the conversation as though nothing had happened.

"Ah, that's right. How is Lucius? What year is he in now?"

"Fourth," he answered distractedly, watching carefully for the Minister to reach for his wineglass. He maintained an impassive expression, but he felt incredibly aware of the empty vial in his pocket.

"My oldest, Elsie, doesn't start until next year. She's got her heart set on Ravenclaw, and as it is my old house I can't help but agree. Oh, you know how it is, you love them no matter what of course, but you can never help but hope…"

"Oh yes. Families like mine take tradition very seriously. Slytherin runs deep in the Malfoy blood."

Leach smiled. "To tradition then," he said, and finally, finally, he took a long sip of wine.

And when he drew back, a mildly concerned expression on his face, Abraxas's heart pounded. "Is something wrong, Minister?"

"Nothing, nothing, I just- well, I suppose I'm not used to such quality wine," he muttered, but he still looked somewhat skeptical, looking into his glass as if he expected to see mud at the bottom to explain the strange taste.

"I apologize- your secretary informed me that you preferred red, so I chose our finest merlot…"

"Oh no, an excellent choice- yours tastes all right, then?"

Abraxas had avoided his own glass, worried that the house elf might switch them by accident. But he had been very clear about the instructions, and Leach definitely seemed to have received the glass intended for him…

He lifted his glass and took a sip. "Oh yes," he confirmed, trying not to show his relief. "Perfectly pleasant."

"Hmm… you're sure- well, I really hate to ask but- you're sure that none of your servants could have- er- tampered with it?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Everyone employed in my home answers only to me and operates on my will alone. Are you… _accusing_ me of something?" he said dangerously.

"I've had more than my fair share of merlot in my time, Mr. Malfoy," the Minister said quietly, all the usual geniality gone from his face. "All I can tell you is that it tastes wrong."

As the two were seated at opposite ends of the very long table, Abraxas had to stand up and walk over to be able to reach his setting. Looking Leach right in the eye, he picked up the glass and drank.

There it was. The bitter bite of poison.

"Tastes fine to me," he said in a low, sharp voice.

Leach looked surprised. "I… I'm so sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I just- paranoia got the best of me and I…"

"If you don't like the merlot, I can certainly open a bottle of something else. I'm sure you and I have... _exceptionally_ different palates." It was almost therapeutic, to bury all the fear about what he had just done under a cold tone, to finally let on what he really felt about the foolish, Mudblood invertebrate he was expected to respect.

"No, no," Leach replied hastily. "I'm sure I've been rude enough already. This is fine, thank you."

And so, over the course of the meal, Leach drank the rest of the glass. And the very next day, if the rumors were true, the Minister started reporting strange systems to his friends and family. By the end of the week, he was taking an official leave, working solely from home and relying on his staff more. And by the end of the month, he had resigned.

He died three months, one week, and two days after his dinner at Malfoy Manor.

As for Abraxas, a single sip couldn't do the damage that an entire glass could. He retained his position and his image, but he was also markedly weaker than he was before. Even the smallest of illnesses left him bedridden for weeks, and it wasn't long until he needed a cane.

Some suspected, but there was no evidence- Abraxas had picked the poison specifically because it was so hard to detect. The only people who ever knew were himself and his oldest, most loyal house elf.

So many years later, the secret died with him. The obituaries informed readers that he had died of dragon pox and was survived by his son, Lucius, a daughter-in-law, and a young grandson, Draco.

What they didn't print was that he died with weak organs, few loved ones, and a stained soul, all of which, it could be argued, were the result of that fateful little dinner party.


	3. Neville Longbottom, Disagree

It was an ordinary day in Potions class, which of course meant an eerie darkness, a chill that set into the students' bones, and Snape hanging over shoulders, trying to make Neville and the other Gryffindors as uncomfortable as possible as they worked on their Strengthening Solutions.

The potion was supposed to be a bright turquoise, but people were at vastly different stages and success rates. Hermione's was already a pleasant aquamarine and she was gently trying to coax it to go just a few shades greener with subtle adjustments to the fire under her cauldron and a few well-placed stirs. Harry's was deep blue, and while it was technically better than some of the potions which had veered off into dangerously orange territory (like Crabbe's), it also seemed resolute on staying as dark as it currently was. Malfoy had managed the light purple that was to be expected of the early stages, but everything he was adding now just seemed to make it smoke more.

Neville's results were the most surprising, because so far he seemed to have done everything right. His cauldron was the exact sky blue that the book described for step ten. However, when he read step eleven, he cautiously raised his hand.

Snape had his back to Neville, examining Seamus's potion at the table in front of him, but he didn't even turn around. He seemed to be able to sense his students more than he ever needed to actually see them, a fact which had always frightened Neville. "Yes, Longbottom?"

"Sir- I'm curious as to why the instructions call for fluxweed?"

Snape finally turned to him, a sneer on his pale face. "If you paid any attention to the lessons on theory, Longbottom, you would know that fluxweed is used for its sustaining properties; this potion is often administered to those who have been near-fatally weakened by an injury or illness. When choosing the plant that will bind the magical elements together, it is best to use one that also has properties which will increase the effectivity of the solution overall. Therefore, Fluxweed is the best option for this particular potion."

"Oh, but I disagree," Neville said brightly. All activity in the dungeon stopped immediately. Everyone turned to stare, mouths agape- a few people even dropped what they were holding. It was only then that Neville realized what he'd said, and who he'd said it to.

He cleared his throat nervously, ducking his head to avoid meeting Snape's glare. "What I _meant_ was- well, I think there might be a plant better than fluxweed," he amended quietly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" His voice was so icy it seemed to drop the temperature in the already frigid dungeon. "Well then, please… _Enlighten us,_ Mr. Longbottom."

"Well… fluxweed's sustaining properties are actually characteristic of the Brassicacae family as a whole, which has over four thousand different species within it. Other than its' membership in the family, Fluxweed doesn't have any particular elements which would help in a strengthening solution. I just thought that maybe it would be beneficial to try a species that has additional characteristics related to strength. Maybe something from the _Matthiola_ genus like- like the _Matthiola crassifolia_ …" he explained, voice trailing off as he realized everyone was still staring at him. "...which- er, well, it has very thick roots and… grows in rocky areas…"

Snape continued to stare for a moment, narrowed eyes almost thoughtful, before saying, "Perhaps I was unclear. When I asked you to 'enlighten us,' what I meant was this…" he paused to walk closer to Neville, standing right in front of him, hanging over his desk. "Could you enlighten us as to why, despite your consistent failing to properly complete even one potion in this class, you feel you know how to brew a Strengthening Solution better than both Arsenius Jigger and myself?"

Once again, there was an instantaneous reaction from the classroom. The Slytherins burst into laughter, while there was a roar of indignant outcry from the Gryffindor side.

"Settle down."

"But Professor," Hermione pleaded, "Neville _has_ brewed his potion correctly so far! And he was just asking a question!"

"Yeah! Neville knows more about plants than anyone! I'll bet he's right!" Ron added fiercely.

"Has anyone ever tried making the potion with that plant?" Parvati asked, trying to keep her voice fair and polite.

"That is enough- I do not need excuses, least of all from those who are foolish enough to make them about such a wishful thing as Longbottom's competence in any field of magic. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"Everyone knows Professor Sprout wants Neville to take over teaching Herbology once she retires," Harry interceded sharply. "At least he won't have to apply every year and get shunted off to some other class no one wants."

Neville distinctly heard Hermione say " _Harry"_ through gritted teeth, but it was too late.

"Detention, Potter, and another twenty points." There were a tense couple of seconds before the bell finally rang. "I will take samples of your work up here, though many of them appear to be incomplete," Snape said, sneer back in place. "I certainly hope that next time there will be fewer disruptions from the Gryffindor students. It seems they more than anybody will need practice if they want to earn their O.W.L.s."

After all the bottles were on Snape's desk, the students started filtering out of the classroom.

"I'm really sorry you got detention, Harry," Neville said.

Harry shrugged. "Not your fault. If anything it'll keep me out of detention with Umbridge," he said, seeming genuinely unbothered. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head but said nothing, apparently deciding to pick her battles.

"Still, that was really cool of you to say."

"I could say the same to you!" he laughed. "Did you see Snape's face?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "You could tell he didn't know what to say- he was just angry someone knew something he didn't."

Neville had been expected Hermione to reprimand him, but she nodded. "I'll bet it would work. That plant? I can't remember what you called it- but the theory checks out for sure. You should ask Professor Sprout about it."

At the end of the hall, people split into groups to go their separate directions for the free period. Lavender and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, and of course, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. As usual, Neville was left alone among the Gryffindors.

But today, Harry turned back before they turned the corner. "Hey Neville- we'll see you in Hogsmeade tomorrow, yeah?"

"Uh- yeah."

"Cool. Bye!" he called, rushing to catch up with his friends.

Neville smiled, wandering off. He set off to the library to finish his Herbology essay, smiling at all the D.A. members he saw along the way.


	4. Fred Weasley II, Memory

"What're you doing, Dad?" Fred asked when he saw his father sitting on the floor of the living room, surrounded by pictures and papers.

"Come here," he responded enthusiastically.

Fred had to walk carefully to avoid stepping on anything. "What is all this?"

"A few months from now it'll be twenty-five years since the shop opened- there'll be a big celebration. We thought it might be nice to have some pictures of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes through the years. Even some early recipes," he said, gesturing to a pile of parchment next to Fred's foot.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to see the sacred recipes until I took over for you," he laughed, looking at the handwritten lists with crossing outs and margin notes.

"Try making those up, you'll get what's coming to you. Terrible side effects in those stages."

Fred sat next to his father, putting the recipes down and picking up some pictures. They were full of his aunts and uncles smiling brilliantly and waving enthusiastically. Birthdays, weddings, Christmases. The pile he was holding looked like it was from his father's mid-twenties. He saw himself, as a baby, appear towards the bottom of the stack, but there were none of Roxy yet. They were the easiest two to pick out among their cousins, with their skin. Many different people were holding him in these photos, but it was always clear it was him. Aunt Fleur playing with him while he sat on the table in front of her. Uncle Harry holding him and laughing as Uncle Ron tried to feed him, with little success. His parents on the couch in the Burrow, holding him on both of their laps and grinning happily.

"Your mother loves that picture. Always meant to have it framed," his father mused, looking over his shoulder. "Can I see those?"

Fred passed him the pictures and picked up the ones that his father had been looking at before. The same cast of characters, for the most part, but younger. Closer to the store's original opening, probably. But something was different.

It was the smiles. They were there, and genuine, but always closed-mouth, tight. "When is this?" he asked.

George glanced back. "Harry's seventeenth birthday, I think."

Right. It was during the war.

He shuffled through some more, and found one of the store's original staff. It was always strange for him, to see his namesake next to his father. Like seeing double. "How did people tell you apart?" he breathed, before realizing that was probably rude. He was never sure how to ask his dad about Uncle Fred. But George laughed.

"They couldn't, mostly. You can bet we had fun with that."

Since he didn't seem upset by it, Fred decided to ask the question he'd always wondered the most. "Is it weird? That I don't look anything like him but I have his name?"

"You do."

"I do what?"

"Look like him. To me, anyway. You have the same smile." He said this all very casually, without looking up from the pictures in his hands.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking at the picture again to compare, but he didn't even know which twin he should look at.

"Yeah." He looked up now, and touched his son's shoulder. "He would've loved you, Freddie."

And that made Fred smile, and that made George smile back, and they both went back to looking through the memories on the floor, happy to see a glimmer of the past in the unchangeable present.


	5. Sirius Black, Yellow

**A/N: This one's a little weird and I'm not even sure how I feel about it- for a while I was actually planning to start over and try to think of something new, but I wanted to write through the end before I did so and once I finished I thought I'd just go with it. I wanted to do the 'Sirius leaving' story in a different way than the ones I usually see- one that focuses on him** _ **after**_ **he makes the big, dramatic decision. But if you hate it, review and tell me, and we'll pretend it never happened!**

* * *

" _What did you say to one another at the end of sixteen years' solid dislike?"- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

* * *

The room wasn't spinning nearly as much as usual.

Quite often, when Sirius allowed himself to go too far down the rabbit hole of thought about his family, it became a sort of minor medical event. His heart raced, his head went foggy, his breathing became uneven.

Decision-making, it seemed, brought him some clarity.

Because Sirius knew now that he was leaving, it was just a matter of when. And how. Should he sneak out in the middle of the night, or should he storm out and give them all a final piece of his mind before he went? He knew James wouldn't answer the mirror- the Potters went out for family dinner on Friday nights, and he didn't have time to send a letter to Remus or Peter- if just the thought of leaving had rid him of his panic, he was anxious to see what actual liberation would feel like. He would be gone by tonight, but did he want his family to know?

It felt cowardly to slip out. Everything in him said to go downstairs, bag packed, scream to his family what he really thought of their twisted, pureblood-worshipping ways, and slam the door behind him- wasn't that how a Gryffindor would do it? Wasn't that how _Sirius Black_ operated for God's sake?! But…

But he was tired. Was there anything he could yell that he hadn't yelled a thousand times before? If there was some set of words that would make them see reason, he surely didn't know it. His family wouldn't care that he was leaving and they certainly wouldn't be bothered by him giving this speech again. What was the use in a dramatic exit when the only one he would upset was himself?

Sirius sighed and stood up to stretch. He looked around his room- the walls were still papered in permanently-stuck contraband, but it was otherwise mostly packed up into his school trunk. It somehow made the room look even dimmer than usual, the starkness and dusky light in the room casting strange shadows and turning the golds in his Gryffindor banners yellow- maybe that's why he found himself shivering, even though it was early August.

All he could think was that he was supposed to be happy. He was calmer, yes, but where was the righteous anger, the burning passion, he'd always expected when he pictured this day so many times throughout his childhood? Was it just this lingering uncertainty which made him feel this way?

He decided writing was the way- either he could leave it for them to find or he could have a plan of attack if he went the confrontation route.

"I'm leaving," he wrote, and then stared at the page for another twenty minutes. The same dilemma plagued him. _Nothing new to say. Nothing that will change anything. They don't listen to me. Nothing I say can change anything._ And so Sirius had figured out his problem. _Nothing I say can change anything._

Finally, Sirius smiled for real, thinking of something Remus had once told him. "You and James," he'd said, "are real Gryffindors because you're excellent problem-solvers once you can see through your own bullshit enough to know what the real problem is." And he was right (as he usually was, Sirius conceded), because after his little epiphany, Sirius finished his letter in under five minutes.

He couldn't change anything, but he could try.

It was dark by now, but Sirius knew the house by heart. He slipped out of his room and into the hall, stopping at the top of the stairs for a moment to listen to his parents and his brother, making small talk about their Pureblood friends a few floors below. Sirius took a deep breath…

...and passed by the staircase, continuing to the door across from his own. Regulus's room.

He opened the door quietly- when they were kids, Regulus had gained almost supernatural hearing when it came to Sirius trying to sneak into his room- and left the note on his brother's neatly-made bed.

 _I'm leaving. But if you ever need anything, just look me up. No matter what happens. -Sirius_

Regulus would find it in an hour or two when he came up to bed, and by that time, Sirius would be long gone.


End file.
